


Southern Lullaby

by Amydiddle



Series: FiddleFest MarchGucket [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ? - Freeform, Drabble, Father and son bonding, FiddleFest MarchGucket, FiddleMarch, Fiddleford Appreciation Month, Gen, I have no idea, Is this a song fic?, Love, Song fic, This is so sappy, lullaby, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amydiddle/pseuds/Amydiddle
Summary: Fiddleford has sung the same lullaby to his son since the day he was born and Tate hung onto it like a life line.The song is more then what is said in the lyrics. It is a song about a father's love for his son and a bond that was never truly broken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Week 4: Family 
> 
> I am super late with this. 
> 
> Also the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYHC_PlcokM

_“When the honeysuckle’s climbing ‘round the door,_  
And the music is a soft and low.  
And the twilight skies   
Are gleaming with the colors that are streaming,   
It’s like what you see in dreaming.  
That’s for sure.”

 

The soft sound of banjo music replaced the singing and filled the quiet house. The melody coming from an open nursery door where a man sat on a rocking chair with a banjo in his lap. In front of him was a small crib where a baby was laying. The child did not seem to care about the lullaby as much as the mobile above him.

The stars swayed to an invisible beat of their own and it entertained the small baby. He kicked his little legs and reached up to them. The music seeming to make the experience of his dancing stars more captivating. The man just rocked in the chair and continued the small song in an attempt to get the child to sleep.

 

_“Don’t you hear the bees a humming  
And the sound of banjo strumming?_

_Honey, close your sleepy eyes  
And gently, softly toddle off to sleep.”_

 

Fiddleford stroked the banjo strings gently and smiled at the toddler that was curled up in his bed so he could face his father. The boy hugged the teddy bear in his arms tightly and seemed to hold onto every word that his father sung. The same old lullaby since he was a baby and it always seemed to do the trick in getting the child to sleep.

The toddler’s eyes started to slowly drift down as the soft strumming of the familiar instrument seemed to rock him to sleep. His father’s voice seemed to act like a second blanket that made him feel secure and happy. Tate rubbed his face and snuggled down further into the star patterned sheets as his dad started the next line.

 

_“And a thousand angel voices are in tune.  
When they come out and rejoices by the moon._

_When we pass the pearly gateway,_  
Betcha we won’t notice straight ‘way  
How as Heaven ain’t a great way off from June.” 

 

The eight-year-old in the bed seemed to be asleep and Fiddleford slowly stopped playing the instrument in his lap. He let the banjo rest as he watched the boy’s chest rise in fall slowly as he hung onto the little teddy bear loosely. His heart hurt with how much he was going to miss his son but Ford needed his help and with how things already were at home this was probably for the best. A little break would not hurt anyone.

With a soft smile, the man stood up and moved to leave the room quietly.

“Dad?” A sleepy voice called out and stopped Fidds in his tracks.

Fiddleford looked over his shoulder at his son.

“Yes, Tate?” He whispered and made his way back over to the bed, “Ya’ need something, sugar cube?”

The boy rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked over at his father.

“You’ll be back soon, won’ ya?” Tate whispered.

“Of course, I will,” Fiddleford smiled and took his son’s hand, “I just gotta help my friend out with somethin’ and then I will be back before ya’ know it. You won’ even know I was gone.”

Tate gave a small smile but did not seem convinced. “When will you be back?” He asked quietly.

“If all goes according to plan I will be back next June,” Fidds said with a small smile, “But I will call you every day.”

“Promise?”

Fiddleford leaned over and kissed Tate’s head, “I promise. Now you get to sleep. Ya got school in the mornin’.”

The man moved to leave the room but a tug on his sleeve kept him in place.

“Can…can you finish the song?”

Fiddleford smiled softly and moved back into the chair he had occupied a moment ago. He settled the banjo back into his lap and plucked a few strings.

“Anything for you, Tater-tot.”

Tate smiled at the nickname and snuggled back down into the blankets as his father started to pluck the strings to the banjo. The soothing and familiar tone of the instrument lulling him slowly to sleep.

 

_“Don’t you hear the bees a humming  
And the sound of banjo strumming?_

_Honey close your sleepy eyes  
And gently, softly toddle off to sleep.”_

 

Tate stopped his footsteps as he walked around the new McGucket manor when he heard a familiar song from one of the rooms he had just passed. The man backed up slowly and looked into the room with interest. Even after so many years of the tune being lost to time he could recognize it instantly.

The man stared at the man that was plucking away at the strings in front of the fire. His father seemed to get younger as he sang the last few lines of the song. Tate suddenly felt like he was eight again and was about ready to get ready for bed so his dad could sing him to sleep.

Fiddleford let the last note die out on his own and stared ahead at the crackling flames. The old man did not even seem to know that his son stood in the doorway and watched him.

“Used to play that for ya’ every night,” Fidds said softly as he let his fingers brush over the strings, “Ever since ya were born. Put you right to sleep when I started to sing.”

Tate slowly moved into the room and took the other chair silently.

“Never got to that stage of life where ya’ would have fought me out of yer room to make me stop,” Fidds said sadly, “Or give ya’ the chance to have kids so you could sing it to ‘em.”

Fiddleford stopped his fingers and let the soft strum of the notes die.

“I’m sorry, Tate. I didn’ just ruin yer life; I ruined yours too.” Fiddleford said that words sadly and hugged the banjo close to him.

Tate frowned at his father and looked into the flames in front of the two of them. He had never been that good at words.

“That doesn’t matter, Dad. What matters is you are getting better and you shouldn’t be sorry for my bitterness over what had happened to you. I should have tried to help you but,” Tate took a breath, “I didn’t. I just pretended I did not know you.”

“Oh, sugar cube,” Fiddleford set the banjo down and put his hand on Tate’s shoulder, “That don’t mean nothing. I wouldn’t have tried to help me neither seeing how far gone I got. Heck, the fact that ya’ did stick around town and didn’ split is enough fer me to be grateful about.”

Tate looked over at his father and almost crumbled when he saw the man had just the same amount of love and affection in his eyes as when Tate was a child. Even after messing up, his father still loved him above everything in the world.

“I love ya’, Tate,” Fiddleford said as he tipped the hat up some.

“I love you too, Dad.”


End file.
